


Take a short walk off a long pier

by slothesaurus



Category: Free!
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3506288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothesaurus/pseuds/slothesaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's odd for both of them, sitting here watching the ocean with their friendships cast out like fishing lines that try to reach another country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a short walk off a long pier

**Author's Note:**

> For every friendship that's ever been born between oceans.
> 
> My lovely friend arturosavinni suggested I try writing a warm-up when I talked about having problems with finishing the Piggy Day fic I set out to make last week which I am still in the process of doing. But yes, a little backstory on this one. I felt cheated out of a lot of scenes with Eternal Summer so I usually wonder about those in-betweens we all love so much.
> 
> Rin and Haru in Australia was fun for the most part, but what about the other side of the coin? Makoto and Sousuke were both in different places of mind while their besties were away so here we are. This is short and not romantically intended for any party. If anything its about the romance of friendship? Friendship is so important to me and I know these guys feel the same.
> 
> On the fic title. To ‘take a long walk off a short pier’ means to rudely tell someone to leave. So I tried being clever and assumed if you switch long and short you’d get the opposite of rudely telling someone to leave, which is politely asking someone to stay. Someone give me a gold for effort at least.
> 
> I DONT KNOW OKAY I NEED MORE FRIENDSHIP MOMENTS IM SORRY.
> 
>  
> 
> Absence is to love as wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small and kindles the great. ~Roger de Bussy-Rabutin

 

It’s his second day walking home alone and Makoto feels the familiar rivulet of guilt trailing warm and slow between his shoulder blades, prickling his skin uncomfortably.

 

The sound of his shoes scraping against concrete is strange. It beats a steady cadence of _one-two one-two_ with no accompanying shuffle from a pair of feet that step slightly lighter than his own.

 

When he looks to his right he feels something is off. The ocean is calm and the sky paints him in honeyed hues that lack the normal sweetness of a school day’s end.

 

Makoto notices a smattering of fishing boats heading for the docks, inky silhouettes racing the daylight’s departure to the shore, and whispers a tiny ‘ _Welcome home’_ past a tinier smile.

 

The sun is bright and brazen as it waves goodbye beyond the horizon, but the only warmth Makoto can feel is the heat of uneasiness on his neck and back.

 

Everything is too wide and open. And once again his eyes fall to the endless expanse of gold shimmering in waves beside him. Everything is too quiet.

 

There are seagulls crying and waves kissing the shore, engines humming and buoy bells answering boat horns. There are children laughing and running past Makoto’s lone figure here on the concrete platform that stutters just before the white grains of his childhood.

 

Makoto is no stranger to loneliness. Even in a crowd of people, there have been moments where he’s felt the flickering ache of helplessness latch on to his heart like a frightened child. Even at home, surrounded by his parents and siblings, he’s befriended those moments casually in the corner of his mind that aches not to fear.

 

He shakes his head gently and sighs, finger reaching up to scratch at his cheek. “I’m being ridiculous, huh?”

 

No one answers him.

 

Makoto stretches his lips in a smile he saves for rainy days and first years of middle school, eyes moving back to the path that will lead him home when a splash of color catches his eye.

 

There is a convenience store to his left, posters and promos plastered in a collage of fading colors and water-damaged mosaics. A newer sheet of paper has been taped in front of the largest store window.

 

 _‘Beat the heat with your all time favorites!’_ It says in summer yellows and blues. The lettering is thick and chunky, much like the frozen treats showcased on the poster.

 

Makoto’s eyes trail through the selection until he stops on a particular item.

 

His smile, the one he saves for rainy days and first years of middle school, melts into one he saves for winning relays.

 

\--

 

Sousuke’s shoulder brace is a pain in the ass during hot summer afternoons.

 

It’s not that it’s too heavy or thick to wear, but it’s a constant touch on his skin he doesn’t want. It’s a synthetic hand curled around his shoulder in artificial support.

 

 _‘It’s nice to be back, Sousuke,’_ it says every time he straps it on, _‘you’ll do just fine today.’_ It soothes in the voice of his doctor, patient but exasperated.

 

It breathes well enough, but there is heat in it once the sun showers him in attention long enough. He rethinks skipping his last class to come out here. Being offered a seat on the train by a stranger because he forgot to grab the handle bar with his left hand was bad enough.

 

Sousuke isn’t angry. He’s been angry long enough that the sharp, serrated edge of his fury has learned to rest its maws. But it’s frustrating to be here again.

 

Here, with the familiar weight of the brace cradling him, is the return of his intensive physical therapy sessions. The constant sight of white walls and the smell of antiseptic. The evident shift in gazes directed his way.

 

_What a lunatic. What a hero. What an idiot._

 

“What a tragedy.” Sousuke parrots gently, like his father that one time he found a cat that had been run over on the side of the road.

 

He sighs, nostrils flaring before he clicks his tongue at himself in annoyance. The sun touches his hair, unveiling to the world all the different shades of brown it can actually be. He’s coming out from a small alley between two small shops, sunlight draping the seaside in front of him like a fairytale.

 

Sousuke’s eyes soften at how romantic it all seems. Three little boys chasing each other with water guns in one hand and tubes of ice candy in the other. A young woman with a parasol and a chocolate colored Chowchow puppy taking a stroll. Two teenage girls sharing a can of cola on a bench nearby a small vending machine, situated at the edge of the concrete platform overlooking the beach.

 

He pauses to watch them, a little ashamed at invading what’s obviously a private moment, but just takes a bit to look at the comfortable touch of their arms and the beaming smiles on their faces. The sun’s setting, and the blossoming halo behind them casts their features in a light curtain of shadows.

 

Sousuke tilts his head in wonder, “Come to think of it, I’ve never thought of sharing before.”

 

 _Maybe other things_ , Sousuke’s considered sharing. But for some reason it only dawns on him in this moment that a can of cola didn’t seem important enough to share.

 

He sighs again, gentler this time, and walks up to the vending machine with increasing confusion. The two girls see him approach and smile politely in greeting, he nods his head and quirks a small grin.

 

He turns back to the glass case in front of him, vaguely wondering if they recognize his uniform based on the curious looks he’s getting.

 

His gakuran jacket is open, revealing a black tank top that’s just a little too tight on him underneath. His shoes today are his favorite pair of red and black sneakers. As if good footwear would help him get where he wants to be.

 

He stares hard at the army of beverages standing at attention behind smudged glass, packaging illuminated by small fluorescent bulbs lining the vending machine. The buttons on the right are backlit, but the one for cola seems to have been pressed one too many times and is dim.

 

B4.

 

He tracks the letter then the number before his gaze settles on the right aisle.

 

Sousuke isn’t thirsty, but he has his wallet out and is pressing the button before he can even blink.

 

\--

 

The plastic wrapper is noisy as it crinkles in Makoto’s hand. It’s the same design as he remembers from last week, which was also the last time he’d eaten one of these things.

 

He hasn’t opened it yet.

 

He chances a look over his shoulder, expecting something.

 

There’s a lovely young woman with an adorable Chowchow puppy trotting by. Her parasol is a swirl of cherry blossoms and she seems to be struggling to keep her little friend from toddling up to a group of kids soaking each other with water guns. Makoto laughs at the sight of one of them running out of ammo and squirting his melted ice candy down the back of his friend’s shirt.

 

He sobers quickly, his mother’s smile on his face as he turns back to the ocean. His popsicle is still in his hand, unopened and uneaten. The condensation on the wrapper is starting to cause tiny droplets to drip on to his hand.

 

Makoto feels silly standing here in front of the shore, ice cream help up like a sword he’s not sure how to swing. He wants to open it since he bothered spending some of his allowance on it but he knows what he’ll find.

 

He knows once he opens the cheery plastic packaging that he’s going to glance at his side and find nothing but the sun soaked concrete.

 

Makoto, ever the optimist--the kind with a brilliance that could rival this setting sun, decides to ignore the voice in his head that sounds like Rei reciting logical theories and looks to his right.

 

He almost drops his popsicle at the sight of a familiar dark-haired head sitting at the edge of the concrete steps.

 

\---

 

Sousuke’s rear feels warm from the sun baked concrete underneath him. He has his right leg over the edge of the concrete platform. His left leg’s stretched out on the rightmost side of the steps leading down to the beach. It’s not that tall of a distance for him to jump down onto the sand, but Sousuke likes the rare freedom of being able to swing his foot in the air despite being 185 centimeters of sleepy giant.

 

If he looks down he can see the inverted graffiti of someone declaring their love for someone they call Zaki-chan. Sousuke tosses his can of cola from one hand to the other, silently hoping whoever had the time to spray paint their love confession had time to actually deliver it as well.

 

The sun is finally gone, already chasing the currents to another shore, but the sky has yet to be smudged black. It’s summer, after all. The dull pink and periwinkle hues of the day refuse to sleep for maybe another hour or two.

 

Sousuke presses the aluminum lip to his mouth and is slightly relieved to find it still cold. He sighs through his nose and watches the foam lick the empty sands stretching pale in front of him.

 

It’s nice here, in all honesty. He can see it in his head clearly, four kids running down the wide concrete space from a long afternoon swimming laps and practicing turns. Maybe one of the boys would lag behind, and maybe one of the older ones would hang back and keep pace with them.

 

Maybe they’d all keep pace, end up walking on some days. Talking and laughing, with one laugh a bright and familiar chime above all of them.

 

There’s a scrape of pebbles and grains of wayward sand to his left. Sousuke pulls the can away from his mouth and lets it hang from his hand between his legs.

 

He glances to his side and feels the grip on his cola slip for a moment. It’s hard to forget a pair of eyes you used to read about in letters you still keep with you.

 

\---

 

“Hey,” Sousuke manages to say, eyes blinking in surprise at Iwatobi’s swimming captain standing beside him and gaping like a fish.

 

Makoto snaps out of his daze at the greeting though, “Uh, I. Um. Hi, Yamazaki-kun?”

 

And its not exactly a greeting. But then again, things aren’t exactly how they should be on most days.

 

The backstroke swimmer shuffles a bit on his feet, hunched over as if trying to diminish the space he’s taking up as he fiddles with an unopened popsicle between his hands. He’s gotten closer since they’ve acknowledged each other’s existence in the same breathing space. But it’s not the expected distance you’d have when talking to someone.

 

Sousuke notices that Makoto’s taken the liberty of standing on the edge, same as him. He’s currently in front of the steps leading down to the beach, but there’s enough space between them to fit two people.

 

And maybe that’s on purpose.

 

He’s still eyeing the empty seats--space--between them when his line of vision sees the other boy sit down and stretch his own legs out onto the steps. His sneakers are old but well cared for. The forest green a nice shade to the eyes. Sousuke can appreciate that much about this guy.

 

At some point, he remembers its polite to make eye contact with other people and raises his head to look at him.

 

The first thing that decides to come out of his mouth is less than ideal.

 

“You going to eat that?” He asks in a soft tone that seems a bit foreign to his own ears, but despite his honest curiosity it still sounds like the thing a hungry asshole would say for a free bite.

 

Makoto startles, eyes having been on the ocean, and he blinks cluelessly before raising the still-wrapped treat upright and staring at him before directing his gaze at the damn thing. “Hmm?”

 

Sousuke raises his eyebrows, baffled by the tiniest bit of exasperated fondness at this airheadedness. He nods his head in the boy’s general direction, “The popsicle?”

 

Suddenly the confusion lifts like a fog, and Makoto looks off to the horizon, gaze faraway.

 

“Ah, actually,” He chirps with well hidden exhaustion, “I saw a promotion for it at the convenience store and before I knew it,” He chuckles at himself, finger on his hand still holding the popsicle moving to scratch at his cheek, “I’d already gone in and bought it.”

 

Sousuke’s grip on his cola tightens, and he suddenly feels a wave of shame as he abortively tries to move it to his right. It ends up perched on his thigh in the end.

 

“It’s more out of habit, really.”

 

 _‘Me too.’_ He thinks tiredly.

 

What he says instead, though is, “It’ll melt.”

 

The waves crashing against the shore are a distant roar in their ears. Little by little, there’s a light dusting of stars piercing through the fading blush of the sky.

 

The plastic crinkles one more time before Makoto settles the packaged slush beside him, mindful of the space for two people between them. “To be honest, I could never really finish these things on my own.”

 

His voice sounds odd to Sousuke. It’s different from how it sounds during their joint practice sessions. Different from the way it’s supposed to lilt like sunflowers blooming in the manner messy handwriting used to tell him on crinkled cherry blossom printed pages.

 

It’s somber, resigned, and a little familiar. There’s an ache there that doesn’t come from hunger pains or wasted allowance. The kind of ache you wake up with and do slow, repetitive stretches for everyday.

 

He doesn’t know--never knew, how to stop that kind of sound. So he grunts in response and taps an old rhythm on the top of his cola.

 

The concrete beneath them is cooling, and Sousuke finds his left hand pressing against it for a need of something to do. His palm touches the dusty roughness and he wishes he was twelve and at the park, grass between his fingers and short on one cola for losing a match he’s pretty sure he’d win given if it were anyone else.

 

“What about you, Yamazaki-kun?” And Makoto’s voice is back to normal now, kind and warm against the slow chill starting to stir awake on these summer nights.

 

Sousuke tilts his head in question, scraping his fingernails against the concrete, somehow avoiding the space beside him where he imagines a slightly shorter person could sit and fold his legs up before leaning back on his hands.

 

“Your cola?” He adds helpfully, leaning his forearms on his knees and tilts his head back in a way reminiscent of the Chowchow puppy from earlier, “Aren’t you going to drink it?”

 

Sousuke picks up the can from his thigh to hold it up to the sky like a prize. “Yeah. This was the last one in the vendo.”

 

Makoto doesn’t understand, but he stays silent and attentive anyway, looking as if Sousuke’s nonsense is nothing out of the ordinary.

 

And maybe, considering the company he keeps, it probably is.

 

He struggles to put it into words better, for this fairytale of a boy that flutters at the edges of his memories, a footnote in his life but a main character in another’s. “Don’t think it’ll taste right.”

 

Sousuke mumbles it so low and so fast he doesn’t think the other boy would catch it but.

 

But the wind is a gentle breeze butterflying kisses on their napes and foreheads, and this is Makoto Tachibana. Legendary for a friendship built on loyalty and devotion.

 

Legendary for a heart so wide and vast the ocean scared him away for fear of overflowing.

 

So of course, _of course_. he would catch it at the ends of his fingertips.

 

“Why’s that?” Makoto asks innocently, eyes on him curiously, no hint of judgement or prejudice.

 

Sousuke thinks of one paragraph from his first year of middle school, written in a language he had headaches translating to something he could comprehend accurately to avoid losing the sentiment behind the words.

 

 _‘There’s this one classmate I have that reminds me of him,’_ it said in blue inked cursive, _‘she’s tall and strong, but she’s gentler than a dandelion seed its making me homesick :(‘_

Sousuke finds his mouth opening and making words on its own, “Wanna play for it?”

 

_‘P.S. You make me homesick too but that’s a given already, so don’t sulk, butthead! Hope you work hard translating this. It’s good practice. :D’_

 

Makoto laughs, but not cruelly. He chuckles and shakes his head in apology. “I’m not much of a cola person, though. Sorry.”

 

Sousuke finds himself smiling a little before he shrugs and sets the can on his left, enough to keep the distance between them untouched, and replies, “Figured as much.”

 

\---

 

They both end up deciding to finish their neglected purchases together.

 

It’s ridiculous, being here under the dark sky, opening a plastic wrapper that basically just drips all over Makoto’s hand in what used to be a twin popsicle.

 

Sousuke, for the first time Makoto’s seen him on his own, laughs at him but refrains from pointing which, probably counts as effort on his part.

 

“You’re so mean, Yamazaki-kun!” He whines, relieved in a way that he’s not sure of, “We both knew it was going to end up like this, anyway.”

 

The other boy snickers and moves to open his cola, “And yet you still did it anyway, Tachibana.”

 

The moment he breaks open the aluminum seal a tiny flood of fizz bubbles up to soak the front of his pants.

 

Makoto abandons any ounce of etiquette he saves for acquaintances and laughs until his sides hurt.

 

\---

 

“I’m glad,” Makoto sighs as they walk on the sand together, the distance between them is still measured in swimmers and right now its at a constant two, “you’re really still a good guy like Rin says.”

 

Sousuke frowns as he kicks at a wayward pebble, brow furrowing, “What would make you think otherwise?” He asks carefully, voice suddenly too quiet to be the same booming voice that laughed at him moments ago.

 

The brunette steels himself a bit, a whoosh of air leaving his lips before he smiles sadly, as if chastising himself for something, “People who threaten my friends don’t seem like good guys.”

 

The tiny crunch of sand under their feet stops, waves the only sound around them, buoy bells and seagulls sneaking in to say their piece as well.

 

“Nanase told you?” And to Makoto’s relief he doesn’t sound angry, but ashamed. Sousuke’s stock still beside him--the width of two people, and he’s looking at him without a hint of any emotion. But the weight of his question gives him away.

 

Makoto thinks back to the day he met this boy weeks ago. He thinks of how he had decided to get his own drink during the swimming club’s Splash Fest and finding his best friend backed up against a vending machine with this boy from Tokyo ready to do anything for a friend they just got back.

 

“He didn’t,” Makoto accepts sadly, “Not yet anyway. Haru. He doesn’t like it when I worry about him. He thinks it’s a pain on some days.” He laughs the words out, and this time its a little fonder than it is frustrated.

 

“I overheard you two and after I made sure you weren’t actually going to pull anything, I headed back earlier.” He finally explains in a whisper.

 

He exhales a long, weary breath. “I’m waiting for him to talk to me about it, but I won’t force him.”

 

Makoto wants to say more for some reason. _‘But at this point, I don’t think he’ll ever talk to me again about anything.’_

 

_‘I want you to apologize, but its not like I have either.’_

 

“I’m sorry,” He hears Sousuke murmur, and when Makoto diverts his gaze at the waves licking at the shore to the other boy again, he finds his head turned away, eyebrows sloped and mouth hard.

 

Makoto wants to say that its not _him_ Sousuke should be apologizing to. But then maybe its good practice for both of them to taste the words in their mouths.

 

He takes a seat on the sand, eyeing Sousuke patiently until he admits defeat and joins him. they measure the space between them and find it to be enough.

 

It’s quiet between them for a while. The stickiness of the ice cream on Makoto’s hand means he’s gathering sand on the skin of his palm and fingers, but he’s assuming Sousuke can’t be faring any better with his pants.

 

Sousuke speaks after the quiet grows calm and steady, causing ripples of sound from the hoarseness in his voice.

 

“Rin always told me about you guys in his letters,” He offers him, but the fondness in his voice is a net cast out to sea, aiming for a country miles and miles away, “Whenever he talked about all of you, it was like he already won first place.”

 

Makoto pulls his knees up against him and curls his arms around them, at a loss of what to say to such a thing.

 

He hears a snort, “That weirdo, always making me try to write to him even if he was just moving to his grandma’s,” it’s constructed as a complaint but all Makoto can hear is the laughter Sousuke’s struggling to keep at bay.

 

“He was always a romantic, even back then.” He agrees with a sunny smile.

 

“Oh, _god_ , yes. He was,” And Sousuke smiles wide at him, suddenly coming to life and mimicking his sitting position, “When he moved to Australia he made me translate and write in English. He’d leave all these mushy messages in English for me to decode.”

 

Makoto laughs behind his arms, “Wow, Yamazaki-kun, how horrible for you!”

 

They think of Rin, small and vibrant under the Australian sun, pouring over textbooks with his tongue sticking out at the corner, writing a carefully drafted letter telling Sousuke to eat healthy and make sure no boys come within a hundred feet of Gou, and burst out laughing into the sea breeze.

 

\---

 

“Is Nanase,” Sousuke starts quietly, struggling to find the words as he builds a small sandcastle between his legs, “What’s it like?”

 

Makoto--at work making his own poorly constructed sandcastle, watches him with a fair amount of amusement, gesticulating with his hands and floundering, before he sighs and tugs at his hair.

 

“What’s it like being friends with him?” He finally breathes out.

 

At this, Makoto pauses from thumbing a nice little window into a turret for his little sea prince’s home, “Rin never talked about Haru in his letters?”

 

“He did but,” Sousuke’s face is as deadpan as ever as he places a seashell on the top of his tower, “I kind of figured Rin doesn’t share the same kind of thing you and Nanase do.”

 

Makoto hums and tries to copy Sousuke’s handiwork with his own seashell, and frowns at how it tumbles down near his foot, “That’s true. We both love Haru but we show it in different ways.”

 

Sousuke stops from his construction work and looks at Makoto carefully.

 

“Being friends with Haru is the best.” Is what Makoto starts with, of course.

 

“Of course.” Sousuke rumbles skeptically.

 

Makoto gives up on his sandcastle and picks up the seashell he abandoned earlier, “It’s the best because you look at him and go, wow, _I’m_ best friends with _him_?”

 

And Makoto twirls the seashell in his hand, observing its curves and contours shyly before sighing in exasperation, “And then you’ll look at him again later and go, _wow_ , I’m friends with him.”

 

“Mostly because of the stripping.” He sighs again, eyes narrowing in pained remembrance.

 

He hears the butterfly swimmer choke, letting the boy clear his throat before he decides to continue.

 

“Being friends with Haru is like that first moment after finishing a race.”

 

Sousuke looks out into the sea and tries to understand what that means, “Exhilarating?”

 

Makoto considers the word but shakes his head, eyes also staring out into the shifting tides.

 

“Breathtaking.”

 

\---

 

They get up to leave when they realize the last train for Samezuka is in ten minutes.

 

When Makoto bids him goodbye at the station, Sousuke calls out to him as he steps on to the train.

 

“Tachibana,” He pins him with a look that gets him standing straighter, shoulders less slouched and hairs standing on end, “Stop buying food you can’t finish.”

 

Sousuke breaks out into a smile and gives him a wave.

 

Makoto blinks and scratches his cheek, “I’ll keep that in mind, Yamazaki-kun.”

 

And normally this is where this little moment of theirs ends, but Makoto feels like its not done yet. Like he needs to ask the question nagging at the back of his mind.

 

“Yamazaki-kun!” He yells just as the other boy disappears from the train’s open doors.

 

His head pops back out with a confused expression, “What do we do when they come back?”

 

The confusion drops off his face, and his eyes soften.

 

Sousuke thinks of letters and fistbumps and tears running rampant on his Samezuka jacket.

 

Makoto thinks of mackerel over plain rice and hands held out to bathtubs and swimming pools.

 

He thinks of fireworks lighting up the betrayal on Haru’s face and feels that familiar trickle of guilt seeping out from the corners of his eyes.

 

Sousuke watches him for a moment, then grins just before the doors close on his face.

 

“We show them a sight they’ve never seen before.”

 

 


End file.
